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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773758">The Bright Side</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn'>MayGlenn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>May's February Ficlet Challenge 2021 [25]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Amputee, Fingon is a Ray of Fucking Sunshine, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Touch-Starved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros came back to them touch-starved. He had spent years under the new Sun with no one and nothing except bare rock and his own agony, so it stood to reason. </p>
<p>It also stood to reason that he flinched from every touch, too, remembering the years of the Sun before the nothingness when all touches were cruel and hated. How long had he hung there before he began to long even for those cruel touches again? </p>
<p>Of course he didn’t say. And Fingon did not ask. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>May's February Ficlet Challenge 2021 [25]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141298</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>February Ficlet Challenge 2021: Apocalypse No</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Bright Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Maedhros came back to them touch-starved. He had spent years under the new Sun with no one and nothing except bare rock and his own agony, so it stood to reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It also stood to reason that he flinched from every touch, too, remembering the years of the Sun before the nothingness when all touches were cruel and hated. How long had he hung there before he began to long even for those cruel touches again? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course he didn’t say. And Fingon did not ask. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because Maedhros flinching from touch was instinctive, bodily, but when he leaned into the touch afterwards, that was his fëa’s yearning, returning to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he said again. Fingon was just trying to brush his hair, and even fifty strokes in, Maedhros ducked away from the brush every time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Russandol,” Fingon replied, meaning both ‘think nothing of it’ and ‘everything is alright.’ He set the brush aside and reached around him to hug him, ignoring how Maedhros’ body went tense before he relaxed and even sighed aloud. This was just...how things worked, now. It was fine. “Something to be happy for, at least, that your hair is shorter. Your locks don’t merit the one-hundred-brush treatment, so we can stop there for now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always looking on the bright side,” Maedhros groaned, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking on the bright side of your ass,” Fingon teased back, kissing his neck, “you should be grateful.” Maedhros tensed at first, but Fingon chose to believe that the flinching was lessening. Possibly Maedhros was just exhausted. Possibly his hroa was allowing his fëa to feel safe once again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking after it, you mean.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On, after,” Fingon waved a hand. “It’s a very fine ass. A bit skinny these days, though. How about some more stew?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maedhros had to be reminded to eat, too, of course, after so long with nothing to nourish him but his rage and grief. But at least he ate, sometimes second helpings, even, as tonight. “Yes. Please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. I think I’ll have some more, as well.” It helped them both, psychologically, to eat together, to know that the other had enough to eat, and that their own food was theirs. It would be many years, possibly future lifetimes, before they could share a meal as they used to in Aman, picking off the other’s plate. But it worked for now, and it was something. “Good news is, whatever’s left shouldn’t be too hot anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More bright sides,” Maedhros huffed. “Never seen someone so grateful for lukewarm soup and shorn hair.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t forget one-handed boyfriends. Think of how much you’ll save on gloves!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maedhros laughed. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Twenty-eighth in the February Ficlet Challenged of 2021. The prompt was "famine" (I went with "starved"). </p>
<p>Thanks to Imaginary Golux for running this event!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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